Descending Caradhras
by Budgielover
Summary: Completed. Gandalf stands to face the Pack with the exhausted Fellowship about him, and the Ringbearer struggles against despair.
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer:   _The Lord of the Rings_ and all its characters and settings are the property of the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien and its licenses.  These works were produced with admiration and respect, as fan fiction for entertainment purposes only, not for sale or profit.  

(Author's Note:  This story is a sequel to "Snowball Fight," which I wrapped up in December as I felt I was unable to concentrate on it during our recent blizzard of  three weeks straight of houseguests over the Holidays.  My family did not after all have me committed to an asylum but it was a near thing.  I recommend that you read "Snowball Fight" before "Descending Caradhras."  The first nineteen years of my life were spent in Alaska, so much of the cold-weather action described in this and the previous story are based on my life experiences, not only growing up there but working as a volunteer trail guide at Denali National Park.  I hope you enjoy.)  

Descending Caradhras 

Chapter One

        To the unseen observer, the nine forms struggling through the deep snow would resemble nothing so much as walking snowmen, patted together by the children of giants.  Four were quite tall, four were quite small and one was somewhere in between.  All were covered with snow, from head to toe … and all of them were freezing.  With a sigh, Sam Gamgee stopped working on the song he was composing in his head and leaned over to help his master, who had stepped into a snow-covered hole and fallen over.

        Unfortunately, Sam had not accounted for the extra weight of the snow on his already heavy pack and now off-balance, he found himself face-first in the snow next to a panting Frodo.  Behind him, Bill snorted in protest.  Merry, trudging along in his own cold-induced daze, walked right into Bill's tail and was bounced back onto his seat.  The usually placid pony had had enough.  Bill stiffened his forequarters and balked, throwing his head down with a squeal.  Gandalf turned at this sound of equine aggravation and worked his way back to where Sam and Frodo were struggling to stand, driving his staff into the snow with a growl of exasperation.

       "_Now_ what?" asked the wizard, striving to keep his voice low.  Though they had seen no watchers, Gandalf and Aragorn constantly reminded the Company of the need for silence and stealth.  Gandalf's decision to abandon the attempt on the Redhorn Pass and seek out an easier path to the East had not put the wizard in any sweet mood, despite the necessity of the decision.  Their last bundle of firewood was strapped tightly to Bill's panniers.  The Company's lives depended on descending Caradhras and finding shelter before nightfall.  Below the snowline, they would not freeze to death but it would still be a cold and miserable night.

       Mortified at halting the Company, Sam and Frodo gained their feet and tried to brush themselves off.  "I stepped in a hole and fell over, Gandalf," Frodo explained, perhaps unnecessarily.  "Sam fell over trying to help me up.  We are quite all right."

       Behind Bill, Merry was being assisted to his feet by Pippin, who upon ensuring himself that Merry was unharmed, had rather enjoyed seeing his older cousin flattened.  Despite the cold, the younger hobbits could still summon from within themselves a spark of enjoyment in the solid white landscape, so foreign to what they knew.  The older, wiser members of the Company merely endured.

      It took two sugar lumps from Sam's carefully hoarded supply to bribe Bill into moving again.  It was already late morning and the reflection of the wan winter sun on the snow was blinding, painful to their blurring vision.  The Company walked with half-slitted eyes, those eyes leaking a continuous stream of tears from the corners.  The tiny runnels of water froze on their faces and had to be rubbed off, often painfully taking delicate skin with it.  Sam reflected that it must be worse for the Big Folk; parts of their beards often pulled out when they rubbed the icicles off their faces.  It was merely one more small misery to add to frozen feet and aching fingers and bodies stiff from days of cold and wading through thick snow. 

        Sam wiped perspiration from his brow, glad that hobbits didn't have facial hair and so were spared having it pulled out by the roots.  Elves, either, he remembered.  As if Sam's thought had summoned the Elf, Legolas moved gracefully past the struggling hobbits, coming forward to speak with Gandalf.  Sam permitted himself an envious sigh as the Elf's light boots moved easily over the snow he was struggling knee-deep through.

        "Mithrandir," Legolas was saying, "there is a sheltered resting place below us.  There are many dark boulders there from which the sun has melted the snow.  They are warm – at least warmer than taking our midday rest in the snow."

       The wizard nodded.  "Thank you, Legolas.  Could you see the end of the snow from there?"

       The Elf shook his head.  "I ascended the tallest of the rocks but could not see bare ground from where I stood.  I do not think it is far, however.  There are small plants and stunted trees among the boulders and I saw many signs of game."

       "Good."  Aragorn joined the two, moving past the hobbits and Gimli.  Boromir stayed in the rearguard position, his keen eyes constantly scanning the horizons while the others talked.  "We have little dried meat left.  There is a small pheasant-type bird here that is very good.  The bird changes its feathers from white to speckled brown according to the season.  Legolas and I will go hunting when we come to the place."

     "Very well," the wizard agreed. 

* * * * *

       The sun-warmed rocks felt almost hot to their chilled hands.  Sam placed both of his on the dark boulder, then laid his cheek against the rock, as if he could pull the stored warmth into himself through his skin.  Frodo chose an adjacent rock and dropped his pack, climbing up on the rock and stretching himself out on his belly like a lizard.  Gimli choose one of the taller rocks and scrambled rather gracelessly up on it, standing up and holding a hand above his eyes, dark gaze watchful.

       Here on the knees of Caradhras, the light seemed even brighter than on the mountain's shoulders.  The almost constant cloud-cover that Caradhras wore like a shawl was absent in these lower altitudes.  Sam ran a hand under his watering eyes and flicked tears off his fingertips.  His eyes were beginning to burn and if he shifted his gaze too quickly, a shooting pain would lance through them, feeling as if his eyes had been stabbed with a large needle.  The pain seemed to ricochet to the back of his skull and go all the way down his neck.  Sam reached down to the base of the boulders and gathered a handful of snow, pressing it to his eyes.  That seemed to help a little, but the burning at the back of his eyeballs seemed the worse in contrast. 

       Sam checked about him for his master.  Frodo had turned over onto his back and thrown an arm over his eyes, already asleep.  Careful not to disturb him, Sam laid a gentle hand against his cheek, looking for signs of fever.  Frodo muttered something in his sleep but his skin was cool.  Sam raised his head and met the wizard's gaze with a smile, glad to have nothing to report.  Gandalf nodded in return. 

        "He is well, then?" the wizard asked softly.

       "Aye," Sam replied.  "Awful tired, though.  He's not as strong as he thinks he is, yet."  Frodo's dark brows drew down and the two quietly removed themselves farther away, seeking to rest tired legs and feet on convenient rocks.  "I wish we could 'ave stayed a bit longer in Rivendell."

       "Every day counts now, Sam," Gandalf returned.  "The Enemy has had time to gather his forces.  Companies of Men and Orcs have been sighted moving East.  Other, more evil things are also gathering.  It is my fear that we may have lost too much time as it is."   Gandalf glared up at the Pass, now far above them, as if the mountain had chosen to personally thwart him.  With a sigh at their defeat, the wizard dropped his gaze to see Frodo shiver in his sleep.  Sam pulled a blanket out of his pack and covered his master, then quietly moved around the boulder back to the wizard. 

        "We will try to keep an easier pace for a few days," Gandalf continued, "but we must move as swiftly as we are able.  Watch him, Sam, and let me know if he falters."

      Sam nodded, accepting the charge as he had accepted the care of Frodo all of his life.  "I'll keep an eye on 'im, sir."  Gandalf clasped his shoulder and rose, levering himself up with his staff, and went to speak to Gimli.  Sam roused himself and found Merry and Pippin dozing against one of the boulders.  He shook the younger hobbits' shoulders, pointing at the spongy turf and handing Merry his flint.  The two dragged themselves up and began to forage for the few small pieces of wood and dry turf in preparation for fire-building.  Pippin cleared a small roundish area and Merry built a small fire on it and hung Sam's largest kettle over the flickering flames.

        Legolas and Aragorn conferred briefly then strung their bows.  The two set off in opposite directions and it did not take them long to return, a brace of coneys slung over each shoulder.  Sam accepted them gratefully and sat down to skin them, then looked up when a tall shadow sheltered his aching eyes.

         "Allow me, Master Samwise."  Wordlessly, Sam handed the carcasses to Boromir and watched critically as the Man soon had them quartered and ready for the pot.  Boromir smiled when he saw the hobbit examining his handiwork.  "It seems a more fair division of labor," he commented softly and handed the jointed rabbits back to Sam.  The hobbit nodded his thanks and added the pieces to the pot, wiping the blood from his hands.  The Man straightened and took the small pile of skins and offal off to bury it. 

        The plain food didn't compare to well-laden tables of Imladris, but it was passable enough camp fare, Sam thought with a surge of pardonable pride.  Alerted by Master Pippin's soft crow of delight, Sam had looked over to see the cousins intently grubbing in the spongy turf.  The snow had melted between the dark boulders, the exposed ground absorbing the heat from the great rocks.  Sam finished scrubbing the stew-ring out of his cooking pot and wandered over.  "Look, Sam!" Merry had called softly, his broad face beaming as if the two of them had found a dragon's hoard.  "Blueberries!  Fat, juicy ones!  And still frozen!"  Nimble hobbit-fingers had immediately gathered all within sight and the three had carefully dumped them into his just-cleaned kettle, mashed in fresh snow with a few more of crushed sugar lumps and presented the surprised Company with a sweet dessert of blueberry ice.

        "Ah, Sam, you are a marvel," Gandalf had said, and the stocky hobbit felt warmed right down to the hair on his toes.  Pippin added an enthusiastic "Umm-hummm!," his lips and chin purple and stains cascading down his shirt.  Merry had groaned and dragged the youngster over to the nearest patch of snow, forcing the reluctant tweenager to rub at the stains in the dim hope they might come out.  Now the entire Company was engaged in trying to wipe sticky concoction off their faces and clothes, but the unexpected treat had enlivened an otherwise unexciting meal.

          Checking about him, Sam saw that Frodo was asleep again, and as he watched, Pippin gave up on scrubbing more berry-stain off his fingers and carefully laid himself along Frodo, inching in close to his cousin but careful not to press against his still-tender side.  Merry dropped on Frodo's other side, bracketing him and spreading a blanket across them all for warmth.  With a yawn, Sam eased himself down on Pip's free side, and soon all four were soundly asleep.  The two Men and the Elf stretched out their long forms, propping themselves up against the rocks, weapons within easy reach.  Even Bill dozed, head down and legs locked, the pony's soft, deep breaths a familiar, comforting sound to the others.

       With a silent tap on the shoulder, Gandalf relieved Gimli of the watch.  The Dwarf rubbed his eyes and gave up his place gladly, dropping heavily off the rock to the soft earth.  Sitting down on the great rock, the wizard pulled out his pipe and sat back, sharp eyes watching for any eyes that watched back from the featureless landscape.

* * * * *

        It was not watching eyes that the wizard had reason to fear, though he did not know it.  Leagues away, downwind, questing muzzles raised into the air, scenting wood smoke and the familiar scent of fresh blood and the unfamiliar scent of warm lives.  The leader raised his great head, sharp ears pricking.  The others milled about him, made confused and apprehensive by the strange smells on the sharp, crisp breeze.  With a howl, the leader summoned the rest and they came to him eagerly, crawling on their bellies before him, pressing their bodies against his legs and whining.  Then, as one, the pack turned and padded towards the unfamiliar scents on silent paws.

* * * * *  

       With a groan, Sam rolled over and cranked his eyes open.  His lashes stuck together and he had to rub at them to loosen the sticky matter.  He had grown chilled again as they slept, but he, like the others, had learned to ignore that.  At first, Sam thought that it must have snowed again, for he could see nothing but white.  Nothing.  Nothing at all.  Sam waved a hand in front of his face, then jerked himself upright with a stifled cry.  His abrupt movement disturbed Pippin.  Pippin also sat up, and Sam could feel the younger hobbit shift as the tweenager turned and looked about him.  "Sam," Pippin hissed, "I can't see anything.  Can you see anything?"

      Sam shook his head, though he knew that Pippin couldn't see it.  "I can't see nothing.  I'm blind."

      Sam felt Pippin push against him, trembling.  "Me, too." 

* TBC *       


	2. Chapter Two

(Author's Note:  I'll be off visiting family next week for ten days so I regret there won't be any updates until my return.  Just to respond to a few comments:  darinbaggins and Lil Loki Puck, thank you!  Shirebound, like Boromir, I've been snow-blinded twice and the pain is incredible.  Tanglewinds, congratulations on uploading your first story.  And you are right; the game bird mentioned was ptarmigan.   Enigma Jade, so glad you are enjoying this!  Robin Gurl, yes, little details like the blueberries contribute so much to the mood of a story.  Lottie du Bois, snow-blindness is indeed awful – and frightening.  Rose Cotton, I guess this might be a "missing adventure" story.  Zinc, it is more fun not to state the obvious!  TrueFan, don't worry.  Bookworm, Tolkien showed us that Gandalf could indeed be sharp-tongued.  Firgalos, your review convinced me to post this chapter before leaving.  Baylor, I always thought that cold-weather life taught me to be self-sufficient and also helped develop my creative drive.  Do you feel the same?  Wren aka scooter, I don't know the medical reason why victims of snow-blindness "see" white instead of darkness; I speak from experience on that.  Thank you, everyone, for your input and the next chapter will be up as soon as possible after my return.)

Chapter Two

       Sam knew that Merry had awoken not by any word but by the soft intake of breath followed by ragged breathing as the young hobbit fought to master himself.  

       "Merry?"  Young Pippin's voice was very small and very frightened.  Sam heard a soft _thunk_ followed by a faint "_oof!_" then Merry's voice, "Easy there, Pippin-lad.  Calm down.  Just give me a minute, lad."

      "Merry?"  Pippin's voice was higher, going shrill in his ill-controlled panic.  Between them, Frodo stirred then relaxed back into sleep when the other two froze into silence.  Sam held onto his resolve with iron control, blinking his eyes and rubbing at them, though he knew it would do no good.  White.  So white.  Not even shadows behind his eyelids…

       The large hand that descended on his shoulder caused Sam to gasp and the hand tightened.  "All of you," came a rough, well-known voice, "be still.  Be still.  It is only temporary.  Only temporary, Pippin."  Despite himself, Sam made a sound shamefully like a whimper.  Gandalf's hand squeezed again then was removed.  The hobbit smelled pipe weed and wood smoke and the faintest fragrance of elvish spices, and felt the presence of the wizard lean over him.  

      "Wha…" his master's voice.  There was a moment of absolute silence, only the dim whistling of the breeze over the frozen ground.  The wind picked up loose snow and dashed it against Sam's face.  Then faint rustling sounds as Frodo sat up.  "Gandalf?"  Frodo's voice was very controlled, the fear mastered and swallowed and pushed into some contained space that frightened Sam almost more than the blindness.

     "Yes, Frodo, I am here.  Merry, Pippin, relax now.  Sam, breathe.  All of you, it is all right.  It will pass.  Do you hear me?  It will pass."

      "Gandalf…" it was Merry's voice, now level with Sam's head; he must be sitting up.  "Snow-blindness?"

      The wizard's voice was warm and reassuring and each shivering form felt a large, warm hand briefly stroke his curls and cup his face.  "Yes, Merry.  It is only temporary.  It will pass as soon as your eyes recover."

       "Why didn't you tell us this might happen?"  Frodo's voice, with an undercurrent of anger beneath the fear.

       A soft sigh answered these words.  "Because I hoped it would not.  There was nothing to be done to prevent it, in any case.  Your eyes have been hurting, have they not?"

       "Yes…" the hobbits responded.  Pippin jumped as he felt large hands capture his and stop him from rubbing his eyes.  The large hands clasped his gently together and then laid them down in his lap.  The hand brushed his face again and was gone.

      "We must just wait this out.  It would be better to rest in a dark place but we are below where we could find an ice-cave.  In a little while, Legolas and I will guide you all down below the snowline, and there we will find a place to rest."

       "Legolas … can no one else see, then?"  Frodo felt the hand on his shoulder.  

      "No," replied the wizard softly.  "All the mortal folk are affected.  Are you all right now?  Legolas is speaking with Aragorn and Boromir and Gimli.  Boromir has suffered this affliction before; he is assuring the others that they will regain their sight.  I must leave you now to speak with them."

       Sam sensed the wizard start to rise, the soft rustle of robes coming to his ears.  He grunted involuntarily when a hard hand smacked into his shoulder.  "Sorry, Sam," came Frodo's voice.  "Gandalf!  Gandalf, can _you_ see?"

      There was absolute silence for a moment.  Then came the soft reply, "No, Frodo.  I am blind, too."

      "But … but how…"

      "Do not fear, my friends.  Wizards have senses other than sight to guide us.  Now wait here and do not rub your eyes.  Just keep them closed.  I will return shortly and help you to tie blindfolds around them – the darkness will ease the burning and help them to heal."

       A soft exhalation and they were alone.

* * * * * 

      The pack paused some leagues yet from the where the Fellowship waited among the sun-warmed boulders of the small, sheltered place they had chosen for their midday rest.  The leader halted, nose to the cold earth, distracted by the scent of one of the large, white-coated goats that had passed this way shortly before.  Food was plentiful here at the edge of the snowline; the great horned deer and the mountain goats roamed and feasted on the spongy turf, and rabbits, rodents, and fat-bodied birds were many.

      Even as the wolf sniffed, a mouse lost its nerve and ran from hiding before the great fanged muzzle.  It was snapped up in an instinctive, automatic motion.  The sweet burst of blood in its tongue decided the pack leader.  With an inaudible growl that informed the others of his decision, he set them on the trail of the luckless goat.  He would return to the unfamiliar scents on the wind later.  Now it was time to hunt.

* * * * *

         "We must look bloody ridiculous an' no mistake,' thought Sam.  Gandalf and Legolas had arranged them all in a line, Aragorn first, then Boromir, Gimli and the hobbits; Frodo then Sam, Pippin then Merry, each with his hands on the shoulders of the stumbling figure before him.  Murmuring gentle reassurances, the Elf guided the weaving line as best he could, but he could not be everywhere and bumps and bruises were accumulating as the Fellowship tripped over every obstacle in their path, muttering a constant stream of apologies to the person before and behind him.  Had the situation been less perilous, Sam would have laughed.

       Legolas had his own hurts, Sam remembered, though the Elf had showed little acknowledgement of his injuries.  Though the three rescuers had not described what had occurred during his master and the Elf's capture by the foul orc-kind, Sam knew they had both been hurt.  But no one would have guessed it from the Elf's soft, clear voice and Frodo was silent.

        Gandalf brought up the rear, occasionally using his staff to guide an errant hobbit back into line.  All of the Company, with the exception of the Elf, wore handkerchiefs and socks and whatever would serve tied around their eyes.  Though the wizard could not see any more clearly than the faltering figures he guided, he was aware of the world as sparks of life, of fire, on the frozen earth.  Non-living things were cold gray shadows on the backdrop of his mind.  As they walked, he related tales and songs to the hobbits to keep their minds from fear.  Before them, he was aware that Gimli also listened intently, the Dwarf's heavy shoulders rigid as Gimli faced an enemy he could not fight or conquer.

       Despite what help the two could provide, progress was slow.  It was only natural to curb one's steps when walking blind, to extend one's hands into the darkness in the attempt to guard oneself from harm.  At the head of the column, Aragorn cursed himself for falling prey to the affliction, though the more reasonable part of him knew that he could not have prevented it.  The burning ache of strained eyes should have warned him, but his mind had been occupied by the Fellowship's desperate straits and he had not recognized the symptoms.  

      The Ranger felt Boromir's hands tighten on his shoulders.  "Do not blame yourself, Aragorn," the Man said with his usual perception.  "I have been twice snow-blinded.  I did not feel it coming, or could do naught to prevent it.  We were rather busy, I think."

       Aragorn chuckled and knew that Boromir could feel his shoulders shaking.  "Thank you, Boromir.  How long did your snow-blindness last, when you suffered it?"

       Boromir thought for a moment.  "The first time it was two days.  My brother and I were climbing in the mountains outside of our home.  He was wiser than I; he covered his eyes with the cleaned intestines from one of our dinners.  Snow-hare, if I remember correctly.  The membrane was just enough to occlude the glare and save his vision.  I would not bind a strip of the foul-smelling, greasy membrane around my head, and so I suffered for it."

       "And the second?"

       "Ah, I was wiser, then.  When my eyes began to water and the pain began, I rubbed ash from my cook-fire underneath my eyes.  That darkening of the skin cut the snow's reflection into my eyes and helped somewhat.  But it was not enough.  I knew it was happening and I could do nothing.  I was alone, on an errand for my father.  I found a small cave and stayed there in the darkness, my face turned from the entrance, for a day."  Boromir sighed.  "It was a very long day."

      "And you recovered with no ill effects?"

      "My eyes were very tender for a while.  I have heard that some experience nausea and sickness, some agonizing headaches.  I was fortunate.  The pain passed within a few days."

       "And your vision was not permanently affected?"

       "No.  No, once my eyes had healed, there was no damage."

       Had the Ranger's eyes not already been closed, Aragorn would have shut them in relief.  Boromir's hands tightened on his shoulders, then eased, a world of comfort in that simple gesture.

       Legolas led them well, choosing a path for them with the least amount of rocks and hillocks and small bushes that tangled the feet.  The snow decreased in thickness and became isolated patches of white nestling in shadowed hollows where the sun did not reach.  The hobbits sighed in relief to feel soft turf under their feet instead of freezing snow and frozen earth, and with the constant reassurances of Gandalf that this would soon pass, began to regain their spirits.

       Gandalf followed after, casting about with his mind to safeguard his charges and seek danger before and around him.  So it was that he first became aware of the fire-sparks that was the pack, as they pulled down and extinguished the fire-spark of their prey.  The sparks burned the brighter as they closed in upon the hapless animal, and the wizard "watched" as the prey's spark glowed brightly for a moment before dimming and going out.  The sparks of the others burned lower then, as the pack feasted.  The brightest spark ate first, the slightly dimmer spark of his mate beside him.  The wolves came in ordered sequence after, according to their place in the pack, each eating its fill at speed, until it could hold no more.  They would have rested then, but the leader's curiosity had been aroused by the strange scents he had been following.  With snaps and growls, the brightest spark drove the lesser sparks to their feet and set them again on the trail of the unfamiliar beings that dared to cross his territory.

       The wizard's hands tightened on his staff.  The bright sparks coming towards them were many.  One gnarled hand reached down and patted the hilt of the great elven sword that hung at his side, then reached out to steady the steps of a stumbling hobbit.  They must find shelter very soon.

      "Can you lot walk by yourselves for a while, lads?  I must speak with Legolas concerning a place to stop."  Gandalf kept his voice light, allowing no trace of the fear in his heart to be heard in his voice.  Well he knew how, deprived of one vital sense, others senses would sharpen and seek to fill the void.

      The hobbits heard nothing to alarm them.  Frodo, at the head of the hobbit-line, turned his head out of habit towards the voice and replied, "We're doing rather well at this now, Gandalf.   We'll be fine."  Pippin, the one who had stumbled, wished to disagree but he said nothing.  Their headaches had gradually been intensifying and none of them would object to any action that would allow them to rest and possibly bind some of the still-present snow into the cloths over their eyes.

       Gandalf nodded then remembered that they could not see him.  "Good," the wizard remarked with a smile in his voice.  "I shall return shortly.  Remember, lift up your feet."

      The wizard moved swiftly past them and his boot steps were quickly lost in the spongy turf.  "Did Gandalf seem awfully cheery to you, Frodo?" Merry asked from the rear of the column.  His cousin turned his head then tightened his hold on Gimli's shoulders, almost bruising his fingers in the  Dwarf's chain mail.

       "Now that you mention it…" Frodo responded after a moment's silence.

       "Oh-oh," muttered Sam.

* TBC *


	3. Chapter Three

(Author's Note: Thanks for all the suggestions and commiserations on my reviewing problem; so far all attempts to get the "Go" button to work have been fruitless. I'm bugging Fanfiction.net again tonight. Prince Tyler Briefs and Liza Akita, sorry this chapter took so long; I've been away for a while. Ruby Took, thank you for the effort you put into those reviews. It is appreciated. Bookworm, you are too smart! Pokey, thanks. Rose Cotton, you poor deprived thing! Never seen snow? For you and Robin Gurl and QTPie-2488, snow-blindness is the overload of the rods and cones of the eyes resulting from glare of the sun off snow. It is temporary but incredibly painful. Scooter and Tangelian Proudfoot, I'm honored to be added to your "Favorite Authors" lists. Eris, no worries - I'm not evil enough to make them fight blind ... this time. TrueFan, Delas, good to hear from you. LilyBaggins and shirebound, I feel so honored whenever writers of your caliber review for me. To everyone who has taken the time to review and comment, thank you.)  
  
Chapter Three  
  
As if they knew that the Company could not defend against them, it seemed that word had passed among the local mosquito population that here was easy, vulnerable prey. The blinded Fellowship swatted frantically at the whining annoyances, tracking their tiny attackers by their shrill buzzing. Pippin waved his arms about his head as the biting creatures sought his unprotected ears, loosening his grasp on Sam's shoulders and causing Merry to stumble behind him. Legolas halted the column and hurried back through the line to reattach the two.   
  
"Can we not stop?" panted Merry, rubbing his shin. Before him, Pippin had compromised by keeping one hand on Sam's shoulder and using the other to shake out his scarf, wrapping it around his ears in a vain attempt to thwart the insects. "This is worse than the Midgewater Marshes. We're being eaten alive!"  
  
"Stop thrashing about, then," contributed Frodo from the head of the hobbit-line. "You merely excite them by struggling so."  
  
Gimli growled at that. "This is intolerable! I would rather face a mob of Orcs than this lot!" The insects had less surface to attack on the armored Dwarf, and so were congregating on his face above the sheltering beard with enthusiasm.  
  
"Legolas," the Ranger called, "can you see any citronella or skunk cabbage growing nearby?"  
  
The Elf returned to him quickly. "I do not know those plants, Aragorn."   
  
"Look for a large plant with a frilly outer collar, green on the outside and deep purple on the inside, much like a large cabbage but with thorned stalks. I fear we are still too high on the knees of Caradhras, but if you see one, rubbing it on our skin will discourage them. It smells utterly foul, like a cross between rotting carrion and the sewer-pits of Bree."  
  
"Good," Sam whispered to Frodo, "jus' what I want to rub on meself..." Before him, Sam felt his master's shoulders shake with quiet laughter.  
  
"Keep moving," ordered Gandalf from the head of the line. Muttering, the weaving column picked up the pace, trying to outdistance their tormentors. After but a short way, Frodo called to Gandalf and the old wizard pulled even with them, his staff making dull thuds in the spongy earth. "Let us walk holding on to Bill's panniers, Gandalf," the hobbit suggested. "His tail can shelter us, too."  
  
. Gandalf wiped mosquitoes out of his beard before replying. The insects were so thick it was difficult to take a breath without inhaling them. "Good thinking, Frodo. You and Sam drop back, one of each side of the pony, and Merry and Pippin walk along his withers. You can trade places with them later." This change in the line of march had an additional benefit to relieving the hobbits of some of their misery (an occasional tail-lash being much preferred to the constant biting) - the Company was able to move faster. Bill, his lead-rope held by Gimli, guided the hobbits at a quicker pace than their own hesitant steps. The whining buzzes gradually grew less but in recompense for quiet, each stinging bite began to itch. It was an itching, miserable Company that Gandalf finally allowed to rest, guiding each groaning member to a seat among the scattered stones of a small dell.  
  
"I think I prefer freezin' to death," Sam muttered, scratching vigorously.   
  
Frodo laughed softly. "You may yet have a chance, Sam. We've a long way to go."  
  
"Wonderful," Sam returned mournfully. "Lookin' forward to it."  
  
"Shhhhh!" came Merry's voice from somewhere to their right. "Gandalf, Aragorn and Legolas are talking. I want to hear!"  
  
Frodo and Sam fell silent, and nothing could be heard from Pippin except energetic scratching. But Merry's inquisitiveness proved unproductive. The sharp-eared hobbit could catch nothing but a few soft-voiced words; "shelter," "darkness," "rest and recover" in Legolas' clear voice and Aragorn responding "no time," and "bitter cold." And "dangerous" - that word he heard clearly. One more phrase from Gandalf drifted to his straining ears, "They ... coming quickly. They will be upon us by mid-morning tomorrow." Merry sighed and wished the Big Folk would be more considerate of eavesdroppers.  
  
"Can you hear anything?" whispered Frodo, interrupting what few words Merry had managed to catch.   
  
"Not with all the noise you all are making," Merry hissed back. "Pip, what are you doing?"  
  
The increasingly loud rustling noises stopped. "I'm covered with bites, Merry! They bit right through my cloak and jacket and everything! I can't stand it!"  
  
"Buck up, Pippin-lad," came Frodo's comforting voice. "Wiggle 'round and I'll scratch your back-"  
  
"No more scratching!" Gandalf's voice next to their ears caused all the hobbits to jump. "Pippin, stop that. You'll only make it worse. Legolas and I are going to guide you all farther down to where a river of ice has thrown up great walls of dirt along its sides. The walls will provide shade from the sun's glare and give us a defensible position. You can bathe your bites in the runoff - the icy water will soothe the itching."  
  
"Did you say a river of ice?" Frodo asked, but Gandalf had already moved on to consult with Aragorn. "Some of Bilbo's books mention great fields of ice that move across the face of the world with the slowness of the ages. Rivers of ice frozen for eons, leagues wide! Imagine, Merry, to see such a thing!"  
  
"We aren't going to see anything until our eyes heal," Merry replied practically. "I wish we could remove these blindfolds."  
  
"This evening, Merry, when darkness has fallen." The hobbits jumped again at Legolas' soft voice. None had heard the Elf approach. "It will be dusk before we reach the glacier's moraine." Seeing their looks of confusion, Legolas continued, "Great walls of dirt are pushed up at the edges of the ice flow as it advances. It is very cold there but not as cold as on Caradhras' shoulders." The gentle voice paused then resumed at a higher level, indicating the Elf had stood. "Your eyes should have recovered sufficiently from the glare to be usable tomorrow. Now, we must continue. Let me guide you to our invaluable Bill."  
  
* * * * *  
Many weary hours later, the faltering, itching Company stumbled to a halt beneath a great wall of dirt and riven rock that towered above their heads. They had been aware of the setting sun as a lessening of the pain in their eyes, giving way to the blessed relief of night.  
  
Legolas sat them down and built a fire with the last of their firewood. Those turning towards the flames were startled to see light and movement behind their closed lids. Wincing, Sam found that he could see the dance of the flames against the darkness. Not clearly, and the light hurt, but sight was returning. The hobbits turned their faces to the warmth and an unvoiced knot of terror deep inside them began to unravel.  
  
Gandalf settled the Company while Legolas sought their dinner. The Elf returned quickly, a great thick-furred animal slung over his shoulder. None of the Company had ever seen such a beast, though Boromir thought it might be some kind of great rodent, cousin to rabbits (and rats, Sam heard Pippin whisper to Merry) from the two great gnawing teeth in its mouth. The fur was grayish and very soft and thick to the touch. It was with much regret that Boromir agreed they could not spare the time to cure the hide and preserve it.  
  
"Rest well tonight," the wizard advised after they had eaten. "Tomorrow we must cross the glacier. It will be difficult going, but once we are across it, we can return to our road. We must press hard, then, for much time has been lost in this doomed attempt."  
  
"What of this 'glacier,' Gandalf," asked Frodo. "This river of ice? Is it not dangerous?"  
  
"It has been there for thousands of years, Frodo," replied the wizard. "It will doubtless last a day or two more."  
  
"I didn't mean that. What do we need to know as we traverse it?"  
  
Sam thought that Gandalf would rather not have answered his master. The wizard huffed into his beard then replied reluctantly, "The greatest danger is collapse of the ice upon which we walk. The surface ice has melted and re-formed so many times that it is very brittle, with nothing to mark the weak spots."  
  
The hobbits digested that in silence. Then surprisingly, Gimli spoke. "If that is the case," he rumbled in his deep voice, "I should go first. If the ice is to collapse, then best it fail under the greatest weight and warn the Company."  
  
"By that logic," Aragorn put in, "we should send the pony first. We can ill-afford to spare him, too. No, Gimli, we shall take our chances together."  
  
"Can't we walk around this glacier?" asked Merry.  
  
"No," Gandalf replied. "We must cross it to regain our path. It is not far across - a few hundred meters - but the footing is chancy. We will move slowly and be sure of our steps."  
  
Itching, cold and apprehensive, the exhausted Fellowship rolled themselves into their blankets. But sleep was long in coming.  
  
  
* * * * *   
The next morning the Company was roused by Pippin's exuberant "Oi! Oi!" Legolas, on watch, swiveled 'round and was on his feet before the echoes of the young hobbit's cries had faded into the distance. "I can see! I can see! Ouch!" The last was delivered in an aggrieved tone as his elder cousin caught a dancing ankle and yanked. The elder cousin on the other side captured a flailing shirttail and pulled the tweenager down. Pippin lost his balance and sat down hard on Frodo, cushioning his fall on his elder cousin's tender midsection. Frodo grunted and pushed him off.  
  
"What a sight to wake up to," sighed Aragorn, folding his blindfold and absently stuffing it into a pocket. Then the Ranger stilled and a rare, broad smile broke across his stern face. "A most welcome sight. Even quarreling hobbits are a welcome sight, this morn."  
  
"We are not quarreling," replied Merry with great dignity. "Frodo, are you all right?"  
  
Rubbing his stomach, Frodo managed an "uuurk" followed by a cough, which his cousins took as assent.  
  
The Company was looking about them with delighted, if aching, eyes. Snow glittered in the distance above them; they quickly averted their gaze from it when a shock of pain lanced through their still-sore eyes. Closer, their attention turned to every crisp-edged stunted tree and frost-touched rock. Even the tiny white flowers in the lichen-like turf were a source of joy. "Never again will I take the gift of sight for granted," Aragorn murmured softly. "Ah Elbereth, thank you."  
  
* * * * *  
"Careful! Careful!" warned the wizard. "Sam, move the pony to the left. Do not come forward until I tell you." Gandalf stood before a rough, uneven patch of ice, one hand extended, palm down, as the other tightly clutched his staff. Gimli had come last across the patch, the weight of his heavy armor and weapons a concern to the wizard and the Ranger. The ice had creaked, a deep moaning rumble, and the Dwarf had hurriedly redoubled his pace across the dangerous ground.  
  
The others gathered near Aragorn on safe ground, watching anxiously. Gandalf stood between them and Sam and Bill, a look of concentration on his lined features. The pony did not like the slick surface under his hooves. Dirt and small rocks the glacier had picked up littered the surface, further disguising thin ice and the sharp crevasses hidden beneath them. Bill stared at the unstable ground with white-rimmed eyes, nostrils flaring, tremors of tension rippling along the thick hair of his winter coat. Sam clung to his headstall, scarcely more at ease.  
  
The great mound of pushed earth that marked the far edge of the glacier rose before them, less than five minutes brisk walk. Sam stared at it longingly. "C'mon there, Bill," he crooned softly. "Just a little more, me lad..." He tugged gently on the bridle but Bill resisted, usually affable ears slanting backwards.  
  
"He don't want 'ta come," Samwise called softly to Gandalf. The wizard did not reply but moved farther to the left, motioning the hobbit to guide the pony in that direction. Bill took a couple of steps to the side then stopped again, shaking his head when Sam tugged more insistently.  
  
"Try the sugar cubes, Sam." Sam had been so intent on the pony that he was unaware of Frodo's presence until his master spoke. Frodo reached up to stroke the trembling nose, and Bill responded by gently lipping his hands, the pony's breath warm as it puffed into the freezing air.  
  
"Right, sir, I should of thought o' that." Two rather grubby sugar cubes were held before Bill's nose. The pony stretched out his long neck, but Sam kept them just out of reach. "There's a good boy, Bill, jus' a few more steps..." Sam held the sugar cubes before the questing nose, obliging the rest of the pony to follow.  
  
Frodo stuck his hands in his pockets, pleased with himself. He turned and started walking back to the others on the right of the pony.  
  
Crack!  
  
The loud crash of ice breaking caused Bill to bolt, head down, dragging a startled Sam off his feet and alongside, hanging from the bridle. Frodo only had time to throw up his arms and emit one terrified cry before he disappeared from the horrified Company's sight, sliding rock and snow cascading after him into the depths.  
  
* TBC * 


	4. Chapter Four

(Author's Note:  Ruby Took, thank you for that request for more; I truly am ignoring my taxes and other obligations to write.  Writing is so much more satisfying…  QTPie-2488, another cliffhanger!  Maybe Lily Baggins _is_ right and a deep, unrecognized evil festering in my soul is being expressed by torturing people.  Gentle torture, I hope?  Or maybe I am getting back at Claudia and FBoBE and Lily Baggins and shirebound and Elwen and all the other wonderful writers who have so tortured me!  A Elbereth and TrueFan, of course it would be Frodo!  Could there be any doubt?  Tathar, no luck on solving the reviewing problem yet – it is inconsistent; it works for a few people on certain chapters only.  I haven't found the reason and ff.net has not replied yet to my pleas for help.  Rose Cotton, in Alaska, it seemed the mosquitoes were always waiting for us at the snow line, where the snow thinned out and reverted back to tundra.  There was no escaping them.  Nilmandra, it tickles me when someone who knows agrees with me; living in Minnesota, we could swap mosquito jokes.  ["Shall we eat him here or carry him off," said one mosquito to the other.  "Eat him here," the other replied.  "If we carry him off, the big guys will take him away from us."]  BTW Nilmandra, I read your "Refuge" but couldn't review it due to this glitch I am suffering with ff.net.  Wonderful piece of writing – it brought tears to my eyes.  Angel Baby, Zorra and Firnarnien, thank you for telling me how much you are enjoying the story and that you want more.  Pokey, Tippy and Taneniel, ditto and I hope this meets expectations.  Thank you, everyone, for your comments and support.)                                               **Chapter Four**

       As one, the Company surged forward towards the crevasse into which Frodo had disappeared.  "Stop!" shouted Gandalf, his rough voice halting them as if they had run into a wall.  With desperate strength, Sam wrenched Bill's head down and pulled the pony to a standstill.  "Stop," the wizard repeated more gently, his deep eyes on the great crack.  Small slides of snow and earth were still falling into it, stones clicking as they struck the frozen walls.  "Will you follow him down?  Stand where you are."  Gandalf took two steps to the right but the ice creaked under his weight and a running crack appeared under his feet.  Hurriedly, Gandalf extended his staff and leaned part of his weight on it.  Slowly, slowly he moved back to the left, keeping his feet low to the ice to catch himself should it break.

       For a moment, nothing was heard except the faint cold whistle of the wind and the Fellowship's panting breaths.  Aragorn and Gandalf were staring at each other; all other eyes were drawn down into the chasm.  

       "Frodo," Aragorn called softly, but in the silence his voice carried.  "Frodo!  Can you hear me?"

        Silence.  Then to the wonder and relief of all, a faint "Strider!  I hear you!"  Sam released an explosive breath he hadn't realized he was holding.  Merry and Pippin both made a small cry.  Boromir shut his eyes in relief. 

       Aragorn tried to edge over the ice, but ominous creaking halted him two meters from the edge.  He leaned over but could not see far enough down into the gap.

      "Strider?  Gandalf?  Help!"  Frodo's voice was not loud but it was very strained and oddly muffled.

      "Do not panic, Frodo!" the wizard called.  "We are coming for you.  We will get you out.  Just don't move."

       "Oh, I will not move,"  floated up the disembodied voice.  Sam would have felt more comfortable if he hadn't heard such a strange note in it.  Sam pulled hard on Bill's lead line and practically dragged the pony to the safe ground on which the others stood.   He took a moment to reflect that the pony's good horse sense had warned him of the thin ice, while the Company had walked blithely over it.  As if to agree, Bill shook his head violently, the white rim around his great soft eyes easing but not disappearing.  The ears did not come up from their flat position.

      Carefully, Aragorn sank to his hands and knees then stretched his long frame full-length on the ice, seeking to distribute his weight.  With almost a swimming motion, he pulled himself along the few feet of frozen water until he was with a meter of the opening.  He pushed forward a little more … _crack!_

        "Aragorn, stop!"  The Ranger had stilled before Gandalf could finish the words.  He lay motionless with his cheek pressed into the cold surface, his heart hammering.  "Go no further," the wizard continued more softly.  "The ice will not support you.  Can you back up?"

       Aragorn placed the flat of his hands against the ice and pushed.  "I can.  But how then can I help Frodo?"

       "Pippin will take your place."  Pippin's curly head jerked up, his wide green-gold eyes on the wizard.  "He weighs the least of us."  Merry moved as if to protest, then was silent.  Pippin sank to his knees and started crawling, passing the prone Ranger.  The tweenager's face was almost as white as the ice but his small form was steady and his eyes intent.  Aragorn scooted backwards then regained his feet back on secure ground.

      As the small figure neared the edge, the ice groaned but did not crack.  Pippin stiffened until the sound died away then pushed himself the last few inches and peered into the crevasse.  "I see him," the youngest hobbit called.  "He is on a little ledge, perhaps five or six feet down.  He – oh…"

      Gandalf pressed closer, then gave ground as the ice warned him.  "Oh?  Oh, _what_?"

      Pippin did not reply for a moment, looking distractedly at the sheer sides of the crevasse.   "It is a very small ledge, Gandalf, maybe four inches wide.  Frodo must have slid down pressed to the wall.  If he had come down six inches in either direction…"  Pippin pulled himself a little further along the ice, so that his entire head was tilted down.  The ice groaned again.

       "Peregrin Took, you get back!"

       "I will not, Frodo, and I'll thank you to be quiet."

       "Pippin!  You back up this instant!  Do you hear me, young hobbit?"

       "Be quiet, Frodo."  Pippin was studying the crevasse intently, eyes roaming around the sides, looking for footholds or handholds.  "Gandalf, he is pressed against the side, standing on a little ledge smaller than his feet.  His face is pushed up against the wall.  He can't move an inch."

      "Gandalf!  Aragorn, make him get away from the edge!"

       "Frodo," the wizard called, "Pippin is right.  Be quiet and let us get you out."  There was no response to this, except for some soft mutters that it was probably better Gandalf didn't hear.

       "And how are we to do that?" asked Legolas.  "We have no rope.  We could tie our blankets together…"

       "He couldn't reach them."  Pippin raised his head and looked back at them.  "The little ledge is set against the ice at a slight incline.  There's water running fast below him; I can't see it but I can hear it.  He would have to turn around and leap for it … and if he missed…" 

       "Frodo," Gandalf called over Pippin's head, "can you turn around?"

       Pressed tightly against the wall, Frodo responded, "I will try."

      He had just shifted his weight when Pippin shrieked, "Don't move!  Don't move!"

       "What is it?" shouted Gandalf and Aragorn together.  

       Pippin looked at them frantically.  "The ledge is crumbling.  If he moves, it will collapse."

       "Frodo, don't move!" Gandalf cried.  Frodo pressed himself against the wall, trembling. 

      "Crampons."  All eyes turned to the Dwarf, who was already digging in his pack.  "The ones we took from the orc-band."  For a moment, Gimli's dark eyes sought the Elf's, but Legolas' face betrayed nothing of what he had suffered at those vile creatures' hands.  Long iron spikes spilled from Gimli's pack and he swiftly gathered them up.  "Frodo can use them as steps.  We need a hammer…  One of my throwing axes will do."

       Boromir stooped and picked up one of the heavy black spikes, turning it over in his hands.  "I have used these before.  How will we get them hammered into the walls?" 

        Gimli's hands stopped in straightening the crampons.  The Company stared at each other, aghast.

      "Form a chain."  Merry had been so quiet, so intent on Pippin and Frodo, that the larger members had almost forgotten him.  "Give the crampons to Pip and I'll hold his ankles.  Sam can hold mine.  Then … Legolas and Aragorn and Boromir, with Gimli as anchor.  Gandalf can watch the ice for us."

       Abruptly, Aragorn threw back his head and laughed, shaking the hair out of his eyes.   "Thank you, Master Brandybuck!  Pippin, did you hear?"

      "I heard."  Pippin raised his face from exchanging soft words with his cousin and looked back at them.  "We had better hurry.  Frodo's fingers are going numb and it's hard for him to hold onto the wall."

       Gimli had been rolling the spikes in a blanket and now knelt, eyeing the distance to the small hobbit.  With a careful shove, the powerful Dwarf sent the bundle sliding towards Pippin, who caught it deftly.  The hobbit arranged the spikes against his chest and caught the small axe that followed.  Then he shut his eyes and did not open them until he felt warm hands pat his leg then grasp his ankles in a strong grip.  Merry looked back over his shoulder as Sam followed suit.  The ice creaked.

       Legolas dropped to his belly and slid forward, somehow still managing to look graceful.  Boromir, behind him, did not.  Aragorn fastened his hands tightly around the man's ankles and Gimli attached himself last, sitting upright, far enough away from the thin area that he could dig his heavy boots deeply into the thick ice.  Gandalf stood over them all, beard bristling, issuing orders and suggestions and entreaties to take care.    

     "Ready?" Gandalf asked.  Various growled, muttered and murmured affirmations replied.  Gimli began to inch himself forward, one thick leg braced against the ice at all times.  The muscles of his great arms strained against the heavy cloth and leather and mail of his armor.  The chain began to slide forward, lowering Pippin headfirst into the chasm.  Below him, Frodo closed his eyes and pressed his cheek more firmly into the wall of ice as loose earth rained down upon him.  

      Pippin closed his own eyes as he went over the edge but found the nothingness too reminiscent of his recent snow-blindness.  He hastily opened his eyes and arched his back, angling his head to see how far down he was.  

      "Pip, stop squirming!" Merry panted.  He grunted as another heave left him dangling, Pippin's full weight wrenching his shoulders.  He didn't want to think what Sam must be feeling with both his and Pip's weight on him. 

      "I'm not squirming.  I'm looking!" Pippin hissed back.  "Frodo, can you raise your arms?"

       Slowly, pressing tight against the wall, Frodo raised his right arm above his head.  Pippin was approaching him in jerks and starts, the crampons clutched tightly in one arm and the axe in the other.  Both he and Merry were completely over the edge; above them with this elbows dug into the ice, Sam was silent, his round face a rictus of pain as sweat coated him.  Legolas, holding the sturdy hobbit's ankles, marveled at the halfling's endurance.

       With another jerk, Pippin descended further.  Frodo opened his eyes, startled to see his cousin's upside-down head swinging inches from his face.  Frodo caught one of the crampons from him and thrust it into the wall, knee-high, where it quivered, not securely anchored in the ice.  With a stifled grunt, Pippin twisted and drove the blunt top of the axe against the spike.  Again.  And again.  

       "Can you pull yourself up on that?" Pippin whispered.  He felt like a nosebleed was going to start at any moment.   

       Carefully, Frodo raised his right leg and managed to place a foot on the crampon.  He sighed in relief; his muscles had begun to cramp from standing clenched in the same position.  "Yes.  Hurry, Pip."  Merry made a strangled moan of agreement.

       At Pippin's call, Gandalf directed the chain to edge back.  Now truly did the Company witness the legendary strength of the Dwarves.  Gimli braced himself with both legs and bodily pulled the column back, the men and the elf wiggling to aid him.  The ice creaked again as Merry was pulled up over the edge, his body bending at the waist.  Sam made a soft, agonized sound as some of the weight was released from his shoulders.

      Another crampon was hammered in, further up.  Frodo heaved himself onto it, catching the upper spike in his hand and balancing one-footed on the lower.  Both hobbits were trembling from weariness and tension now, and Frodo needed Pippin's weight to brace him against the ice.  Another jerk back.  Merry slid back onto the ice with a groan, scraping his forearms.  Sam's iron grip on his ankles was agony.  Now he could not see what was happening below him.  More hammering, then Pip's cry for another retreat.    

       Jerk.  Pippin's lower half appeared and Merry pulled him back onto the ice flow.  Now only the tweenager's upper body hung over the chasm.  Pip's feet kicked slightly as he twisted to drive in another crampon and Merry redoubled his hold, resulting in an "Oi!  That hurts, Merry!"

       Frodo was perhaps two feet from gaining the surface when the crampon on which he balanced loosened and fell away into the void.  At his cry, Pippin dropped the remaining spikes and Gimli's axe and fastened both small hands around his cousin's flailing wrist.  The jerk of Frodo's weight hitting the chain dragged Gimli forward several feet.  But the chain did not break.  Frodo and Pippin both hung over the chasm, blue eyes locked on gold-green, as they struggled to hold.

       Pippin whimpered.  Moving stiffly, Frodo reached up with his left hand and caught the braces of his cousin's breeches, freeing Pippin of some of his weight.  Pippin could feel that he did not have a good hold; that left arm was weak yet.  "Hold on, Cousin," he whispered in a strangled gasp.  "Hold on."  

       Frodo had no breath to reply.  Then slowly, he started to rise as the chain regrouped and Gimli pulled.  Pippin came back over the edge, his death-grip on Frodo's wrist never faltering.  The continuous, slow rising continued.  Frodo's sweat-soaked hair appeared, then his white face, his upper body.  Then with a final effort from Gimli, the Ringbearer was pulled up over the edge and back to safe ground.

      With a snap, the ice gave.  Where Merry and Pippin and Frodo had lain not a moment before, it shattered and knife-edged shards dropped to join the rushing waters below.

       Those comprising the chain rolled on the ground and sought to unclamp their hands, their limbs stiff and unyielding from cold and tension.  Gimli rolled his shoulders, unable yet to close his hands.  Boromir and Aragorn sat up, shaking their hands and wrists, trying to work some feeling into them.  Legolas crouched near to them, working his hands.  Sam thrashed silently from side to side, tears of pain and relief streaming down his face.  Merry lay before him, utterly limp as tremors racked his body.  Pippin and Frodo lay so still that Gandalf came to them and turned them over, kneeling to feel their pulses and peer into their eyes.

       "Oooowww," moaned Pippin softly.  Frodo said nothing but he glanced up at Gandalf then slid his arm around his younger cousin, holding him close.

       Gandalf rose to his feet, leaning heavily against his staff.  "That is quite enough excitement for one day, I think.  We will get off this cursed glacier and find a place to camp.  All of you will need liniment and rest.  A warm fire, tea and hot stew -" 

       A slow, rumbling snarl drew every head up.  On the other side of the crevasse, with all his pack behind him, stood a magnificent timber wolf.   The beast was huge, thickly muscled, easily one hundred, fifty pounds.  The wolf was completely black, the only color on it its yellow eyes and a slight silvering of the black ruff.  The sound died as the yellow eyes stared at them.  The others behind it were gray and brown and black and two were white.  They were very many.

* TBC *


	5. Chapter Five

(Author's Note:  I felt it time to conclude "Descending Caradhras," as the Fellowship has reached the mountain's feet and it is time to turn towards reaching Moria.  TrueFan, someday I want to see a photo of those pink poodles!  Nilmandra, forgive me – I gave you the wrong impression.   I meant fellow cold-weather survivor, not fellow Minnesotan.  We cold-weather people (Baylor included) are self-sufficient types, I think.  Firnsarnien, I've done the same thing, and thought your description hysterical.  Eris, I really, really wanted to portray the wolves in a more realistic light than having them attack the Fellowship right off – and that let's me save that battle for another story…  Helga, wrong but that's a really good plot bunny.  QTPie-2488, look, look!  No cliffhanger!  Bearleft, what a flattering compliment – thank you.  Lily Baggins, I saw wolves many times in Denali National Park and treasured each sighting of these beautiful creatures.  Shirebound, wow – I am floored.  Thanks so much for telling me.  A Elbereth, Zorra – for so many who encouraged and supported this story, my heartfelt thanks.  BTW, everyone does know that FanFiction.Net will be down February 14 and 15, right?)

Chapter Five

       "Do not move, any of you!" the wizard fell silent when the rumbling snarl came again, rising and weaving about the Company like velvet brushing over skin.  He was the only one standing; the others lay where they had collapsed.  The great beast's head was swinging from side to side, examining them.  Behind him, the pack milled uncertainly, some crouching with tails curled into their bellies, some pricking their ears forward with curiosity.  The alpha wolf's great yellow eyes met those of the wizard, then traveled to each member of the Fellowship in turn, his sleek enormous head tilting to the side as he considered them.

       "They have never seen Men before, I think," Gandalf murmured.   The wolf glanced at him but did not snarl again, absorbed in his inspection.  "Or any of the Free Peoples or those who walk on two legs.  He does not know what to make of us."

       "Legolas, take your hand off your bow.  Boromir, Aragorn, Gimli – stay still."  Gandalf kept his voice low and melodious, unthreatening, and those hearing it felt inexplicitly warmed and reassured.  "What a magnificent beast," Gandalf breathed, admiration infusing his words.  "Look at the width of his shoulders.  His head would come to my waist.  Never have I seen a more impressive animal."

       His inspection completed, the great head swung back to the wizard.  Then Gandalf did the most strange thing.  Moving as little as possible, he sank to his knees, then keeping his staff firmly in one hand, laid himself flat on the ground.

       The leader's huge head lowered and the beast took a step forward.  Behind him, a beautifully marked gray wolf whined and he turned to touch noses with her for a moment.  Then stiff-legged, he walked to the prone wizard and sniffed his hair.  The Company watched, mesmerized.  The wolf walked completely around Gandalf, sniffing along his body.  When it came to the pouch that contained his pipe-weed, a deep snuff resulted in a sneeze and despite himself, Pippin giggled.

       Instantly the beast was wary again.  It left Gandalf and stalked over to the tweenager, head lowered and silver ruff bristling.  "Pippin," Gandalf warned,  "Stay very still."

      Pippin did not need to be told twice.  Beside him, he felt Merry tense and moved his foot the most minuscule bit to toe his cousin in the side.  The wolf raised his head, tracking the small movement.  Pippin froze.  Merry stiffened too, then went rigid as the animal repeated its circling examination of the hobbits.  Each member of the Company was so inspected, including the terrified Bill.  The wolf sniffed at him lackadaisically, seemingly less interested in the pony than in the people.  

       Boromir shut his eyes and fought to hold himself still and the wolf tensed, catching the scents of fear and stress in the soldier's perspiration.  It growled but Boromir kept himself in check.  Receiving no response to its challenge, the animal moved on.

       Gandalf spoke again, his voice gentle and soothing.  "Look at their bellies.  They have feasted recently.  There is much game about.  Life is easy for them here; it must be to support so large a pack."  Indeed, several of the pack had dropped and lay panting as they awaited their leader's decision.  They yawned, flashing long white fangs.  

       Last of all the leader came to the Ringbearer.  Frodo had begun to relax when mayhem was not immediately offered, as had they all.  But he tensed as the wolf drew near and it reacted, lips drawing off those white teeth.  Involuntarily, Frodo shrank away and the wolf snarled.  "Frodo!  Be still!"  Gandalf's voice was not quite so calm and Legolas again unobtrustively sought his bow.  

       The wolf's great muzzle quested near Frodo's throat, weaving about as it tracked that which alarmed it.  "Gandalf?" whispered Frodo as it snarled again and the great ears laid back.

        "It's the Ring," the wizard whispered back.  "The beast senses it.  No wargs or minions of evil, these."

      "Gandalf?"  Frodo's voice was higher, his fear evident.  The wolf was growling in a continuous rumble now, and behind him, the pack came to attention and rose, their apprehension returning twofold in their leader's unease.  

      "Frodo," Gandalf murmured, that soothing note more pronounced, "very slowly, roll over on your back.  Keep your arms at your sides."

      "Gandalf -" Aragorn protested but the wizard interrupted him.

      "If it sees the Ring as a threat, it will attack.  We must show him we mean no harm."  Frodo obeyed with obvious reluctance, exposing his apparently undefended stomach to the creature.  The wolf watched this carefully, ears still flat but no longer snarling at this gesture of submission.  At last it shook its head with almost a human motion and turning, trotted back to his mate.  She licked his face with relief.  

       "He is the king of his kind," marveled Gandalf softly.  "And he has granted us passage through his realm."

       The pack did not interfer when Gandalf, still using that soft, soothing voice, instructed the Company to gain their feet, one by one.  When all were standing, they very slowly walked over to their packs and shouldered them.  Sam released Bill's tie-stake and stroked the frothed head, white-rimmed eyes fastening on him.  "Ah, Bill," he murmured to the pony, "you were smarter than all o' us.  You knew they were there before we did, didn't you, lad?"

     The Fellowship resumed its march in fits and starts, as Gandalf allowed no more than two to move at a time, and always away from the pack, never towards it.  They eased themselves off the ice flow and gained solid ground again with sighs of relief.  The pack watched with interest but without fear as they picked up the pace.  The wolves trailed after the Nine Walkers for several leagues, the alpha wolf slowly drawing closer and closer to Gandalf.  Just before the pack turned away, the leader brushed the wizard's hand with his great head, and daring greatly, Gandalf stroked it.  The wolf regarded him with its yellow eyes than turned and loped after his pack.

       "Wizards and wolves have always had an affinity," Gandalf mused aloud.  "We have been greatly honored, my friends.  I will treasure this day all of my life."

* * * * *

       They made good time after that, ignoring the protests of stiff joints and stretched muscles.  The last of the snow disappeared and the bitter cold was easing.  Firewood was plentiful now and the hobbits gathered it as they walked, handing it to Sam to tie onto Bill's panniers.  The four watched Gandalf and Aragorn with questions in their eyes; the two walked together, carrying on a low-voiced conversation which seemed half an argument.  Merry tried to edge up close enough to hear but the wizard glared at him and Merry chose prudence over enlightenment, falling back to safety among his cousins and Sam.

       Gandalf paused at the crest of a gentle slope and the Company gathered around him.  He gestured with his staff at the westering sun.  "We will make camp tonight in that sheltered dell down the way.  Tomorrow…" he stopped and sighed, weariness marking his lined features.  "Tomorrow we return to the feet of Caradhras.  It has all been for naught, this effort.  By tomorrow's eve we will have to decide on our further course of action."

       "What is there to decide?" this from Gimli, swinging his axe off his shoulder to rest his strong hands on its handle.  

       "Whether to go on or go back," replied Aragorn.  "We have lost irreplaceable time in this assault upon the Redhorn Pass.  With each day, each hour, the forces of Sauron mass and prepare for war.  This failed effort has cost us dearly."

      "Yet not so dearly that all hope is gone," said Gandalf, but not to the Ranger.  His deep gaze was intent on the Ringbearer.  Frodo had been mostly silent since they had parted from the wolves, not even the relatively warmer air improving his spirits.  Several times the wizard had seen Frodo raise his hand and touch the Ring, then swiftly lower it, glancing about to ensure that none had seen.  

       It was not until the Company had settled down for the night that the wizard was able to speak to Frodo in privacy, drawing the Ringbearer to sit beside him on watch as the others fell into exhausted slumber.  Frodo had sought to resist at first, claiming he was too weary for converse, but Gandalf knew him well.   They had sat in silence and watched the stars, enjoying the luxury of their pipes, until Frodo began at last to speak.

        "Even the beasts turn from me, Gandalf.  Perhaps it would have been better had I fallen into that crevasse.  At least the Enemy would never gain the Ring, then."

       "I think you are wrong, Frodo.  Somehow, sooner or later, it would make its way to its master.  Sauron is calling all evil things to him, and the Ring is foremost among those.   Your death…" and here the wizard had to pause a moment against the surge of grief that welled in him from those words, "your death would not change that."

       Frodo was silent, sweet smoke rising from his pipe and wafting about his dark curls.

       "This task is appointed to you and you alone, Frodo.  No other can complete it.  You must not give in to despair.  It is a device of the Enemy."

       "I know, Gandalf," came the soft reply.  "But it is hard.  The Ring grows heavier with each step.  I am so very tired."

       "If I could take this burden from you, I would, my friend."  The hobbit nodded, his small face lost in the shadows.  Gandalf slid an arm around Frodo and hugged him gently, mindful of bruises and scrapes and aching muscles and the unhealing wound.  "Rest now.  We have a hard march tomorrow, and a decision to be made at the end of it."

       Frodo nodded wordlessly and put out his pipe, rising to his feet.  "You'll wake me for my watch?"

       "Yes.  Good night, Frodo."

       "Good night, Gandalf."

       The wizard watched as the Ringbearer made his soundless way back to where the others lay and eased himself down between Samwise and Pippin.  Though sound asleep, Pippin turned at once and snuggled against his back.  Merry groped for the blanket and pulled it up over them all.  Samwise's grey eyes opened, black in the starlight, checking his master's whereabouts, before closing again.  Comforted, the Ringbearer slept.

* The End *


End file.
